


A Good Head on His Shoulders and a Terrible Fucking Plan Anyway

by opusculasedfera



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opusculasedfera/pseuds/opusculasedfera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to offer to blow a guy to take his mind off things when he won't admit that they're on his mind in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Head on His Shoulders and a Terrible Fucking Plan Anyway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wayfaringwaif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayfaringwaif/gifts).



> Some reality-ignoring Olympics break fluff, written for mistfarer's birthday. <3

It's hard to offer to blow a guy to take his mind off things when he won't admit that they're on his mind in the first place. Mike knows Steve's not this stoic naturally. He's not a whiner, but this really sucks, he could totally get away with complaining about it. He's being enough of a good sport staying in Tampa over the break to keep up his rehab, he could totally be a dick about everything else. How long has he known Mike, after all? Mike could take it.

He pokes Steve's side, skin sun-warm to his touch, more red than tan, despite all this Florida weather. Steve doesn't move. 

"Hey." Mike pokes again, chin on his arms as he watches the slow expansion of Steve's ribs halted by his automatic flinch.

Steve doesn't move his arm from over his eyes. "What?" he says evenly.

"Dunno." Mike doesn't move his hand.

"Then quit poking me."

"Nah." That gets Mike a response, though Steve's dirty look isn't as impressive when he's still shading his eyes in the sun. He prods him again, just to see what happens, and flees toward the water when Steve makes a grab for him. He's running slow, in deference to Steve's bum leg, and it doesn't help when he turns to shout that in Steve's direction and Steve puts on a burst of speed and trips him into the ocean.

The sand is gritty under Mike's knees as he retaliates, dragging Steve down to join him, but the water's pretty good. Steve flails away from him in a spray of water, sending waves in his direction, ruining Mike’s hair, and from that point, it’s _on_.

 

It was a fairly satisfying beach trip, all things considered. Mike's tan looks pretty good, if he does say so himself. God, Steve's annoyingly well-adjusted though. Doesn't even bitch when he comes back from paying for their takeout and Mike's put on the hockey highlights. He wanted to see them, okay? Go, Canada. If he’s checking up on Steve a little too, that’s just because he’s a great friend.

 

It's later, a few beers down and the CBC back to hockey for round two of the exact same clips that Steve's _still_ refusing to get mad about, when it seems like an amazing idea to kick Steve's - non-injured - leg and tell him, in a completely normal and not at all whiny way, that he was totally going to offer to blow him, _geez_.

"Uh huh," Steve says, totally laughing at him. He settles back comfortably on the couch, gesturing at his spread thighs. "Go for broke, man." He snorts, taking another sip of his beer. He doesn't understand anything.

"Not now," Mike says, waving a hand to indicate how stupid an idea that is. "Because you were sad, right? It totally sucks that your leg's still fucked and you couldn't go to the Olympics. You'd have been awesome, bro." He squints at Steve, lifting his head slightly off the arm of the couch for a better look. "But then you weren't sad. You weirdo."

"Nothing I could do," Steve says, fast and automatic, the way he's been saying it since he got the bad news. "Them's the breaks." He coughs once, watching Mike from the corner of his eye. "Uh. I mean. I'm really broken up about this, and you should definitely cheer me up?" 

Mike fucking knew it. No one could be that goddamn calm about something this shitty. "Hah," he says triumphantly, and then again, this time pointing with his beer bottle, just in case Steve didn't get it the first time. Steve's really goddamn red, he notes. How fucking long has he been living in Florida and he still can't take the sun? Mike's got to step up the chirping here.

"Well?" Steve says, shifting on the couch. Damn, his thighs are, like, crazy massive when he spreads them like that, his shorts pulling tight. "Put up or shut up, eh?" He pauses. "Also I'm super choked?"

Oh. Cool. Mike's plan is working fucking perfectly. He's the best at this. "I can totally take your mind off it," he assures Steve, pushing up from his sprawl across the couch, stretching his arms up to the ceiling. Steve's watching him, head cocked, still holding his beer loosely in one hand, and Mike grins before folding himself over to flop forward, his head landing on Steve's thigh. Steve's not even hard, Mike thinks disgustedly, his cheek brushing the bulge in Steve's shorts, he's really not even trying. Does Mike have to do _everything_ around here? 

Steve's thigh is really comfy though.

 

Mike wakes up with his face mashed into the couch cushions and a sense of deep personal satisfaction that he can't quite place until he wakes up enough to recall why he's sleeping on the couch. Make that a _well-deserved_ sense of satisfaction. He is totally the best bro. It doesn't entirely explain why Steve left him asleep on the couch, but he guesses not everyone can be as awesome a bro as he is. 

Steve's already messing with the blender when Mike wanders into the kitchen. "Yo," Mike says, casual and unassuming. Steve doesn't look like he appreciates Mike's restraint, which is unfair, because Mike has earned a full-on champion's welcome or something. Maybe he needs to cheer Steve up again. 

"One of those for me?" Mike asks as Steve pours smoothies.

"You going to puke it up?" Steve says dubiously.

"No," Mike says, offended. "When have I ever-"

"How long have I known you?" Steve puts the glass down in front of Mike anyway.

"I was sixteen-" Mike changes tacks mid-thought. "Anyway, I wasn't that hammered last night, you know that." He thinks the eyebrow waggle is appropriate, under the circumstances.

"Right," Steve says, joining Mike at the table to sigh at him over his own smoothie. "You were totally sober when you fell over on me and talked to my dick for a while. And then fell asleep."

That doesn't sound right. "But, blowjobs?"

"Yeah, that's what you _said_ ," Steve says. He really is laughing at Mike now. "But not so much. Cocktease." He makes a face like he can't believe he added that last bit to the end.

"Huh." Mike remembers feeling really determined about it and what it was like to have his head in Steve's lap. It hadn't seemed as important that everything else was more blurry. "Guess I owe you one." He yawns, resting his chin in his hand, and takes a sip of his smoothie.

"What?"

"I said I would, right? And you sounded pretty choked about the Olympics."

Steve stares at him. He clears his throat. "Um. Yes. Totally choked. Okay, I guess. If you want."

Mike grins at him. "Wicked." He knew this was a great plan. There's no time like the present and he fucking hates waiting, but Steve stops him when he's all set to just slide to his knees right here in Steve's kitchen. 

"Jesus, just finish your fucking smoothie," Steve says with a hand on Mike's shoulder. His voice is a little rough. "I don't want that shit on my dick." It does make sense. And it's not a bad smoothie. Mike's sort of hungry, come to think of it. He could eat. Steve seems a little jumpy though. 

"It's good," Mike says with his mouth mostly full. "Thanks, bro."

"Christ," Steve says. He blinks. "Learn to goddamn eat."

 

Mike's not a total slob. He can be a classy dude and go brush his teeth after breakfast and that kind of shit. He can even shower, once he actually gets a chance to see himself and the shitshow that sleeping on the couch has made of his hair in the bathroom mirror. Steve's hair care products are kind of lacking, but Mike can be a considerate guest about this and, anyway, he thinks he's got some stuff in his suitcase. 

His hair's still wet when he goes in search of them, which is necessary, even if the way it drips cold water on his shoulders is kind of a pain in the ass. Steve's hanging out in the hall though, for some reason, so he can't mop it up with the towel from around his hips. He almost drops his phone when Mike asks what's up. "Checking the scores from this morning," he says. "We won, by the way, if you want to watch the highlights later."

"Maybe," Mike says agreeably. Steve doesn't look as excited about it as he should, which reminds him of his earlier plan. "How're you doing, bro?"

Steve looks a little bit like a deer in headlights; Mike guesses Marty did something cool. He puts a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder. "Aww, don't think about it, man. You'll be in next time, eh? You wanna go take your mind off it?

"Now?"

"Sure. Our tee time's not 'til much later, right?"

"That's what you're worried about?" Steve says, incredulous.

Mike is totally being thoughtful here. Steve keeps fucking bragging on the golf in Florida: this is something he _wants_ to show off. "I'm not _worried_ ," he says. "But it's later, right? So we have time now." He grins, pleased with his own logic.

"Guess we do." Steve's laugh is more of a snort, and Mike would chirp him for it, but Steve's got a hand in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. It's soft, a gentle press of lips and the intimate smell of another person this close, more familiar than Mike would have thought: he doesn’t usually sniff his friends, he’s pretty sure.

Kissing wasn't in the plan, but Mike can roll with it. If it cheers Steve up, that was his plan after all. Not that Steve should have it all his own way. Mike's towel's not really tucked tightly enough to deal with him dropping to his knees, though he only remembers it when it slips to the side and puddles on the floor.

"Jesus," Steve says, Mike's hands busy with the drawstring of his sweats. "I, uh, have a bed, right over there."

"Whatever," Mike says, preoccupied with the shape of Steve's dick, just starting to tent out his pants, but he lets himself be pulled the few steps to the bedroom, leaving his towel in a heap.

Steve's at least practical enough to step out of his pants before he sits down on the bed, though he doesn't lie back usefully until Mike pushes him, even though Mike can totally see that he's half-hard and definitely into it. He makes an indeterminate noise when Mike pushes his thigh up so he can nuzzle Steve's balls, but he doesn't say anything before Mike just fucking goes for it. He can't really deepthroat, but he can go down pretty far, and he’s pretty sure he can make up for it when he hollows his cheeks and sucks, if the strangled noise Steve makes is anything to go by. 

He seems to be trying to make words, which means Mike isn't being distracting enough, and he bobs his head more firmly, loosening his grip as Steve starts pushing up into his mouth, his jaw slackening.

Steve's giant hands feel fucking great as he digs his fingers into Mike's hair. Mike's kinda rubbing down on the bed, but that's just the convenient thing about being naked. He turns his head into the push of Steve's fingers against his scalp, but Steve's still being some kind of fucking gentleman, even though he's making the dumbest noises as he rocks his dick in Mike's mouth. He won't go harder even when Mike sucks more firmly, Steve's dick leaking all over his tongue, but he does kind of whimper, which is a good enough victory. 

It's hard to keep track of time with the quick slide of Steve's dick in Mike's mouth competing with the frustrating smoothness of the sheets against Mike's own, but Steve's definitely all flushed and shaking by the time he jerks up hard - and that's what Mike's been talking about all along, honestly - and comes, dick twitching with it. 

Mike licks him off, jizz bland and slippery in his mouth, and half-listens to the dumb shit he says. He's pushing up to get a hand on himself when Steve starts patting his shoulder, and it’s just as easy to shove himself that little bit further up the bed and let Steve do it, tucking his head into Mike’s shoulder, heavy breathing against his ear as he jerks him off. It’s really good, which is a dumb thing to say because handies are always really good, but Mike doesn’t have to be smart in his own head, just breathe Steve in and shake apart in his hands. 

He thinks he gets jizz all over Steve’s hip, but it seems secondary to staring straight ahead and sucking in air like crazy, curling into Steve’s side as his body relaxes.

"You know if you want to blow me, you don't need to come up with weird excuses, right?" Steve says, his face squashed into the pillow, his ears still all red from exertion. He seems to be sneaking his arm closer and Mike pulls it over himself, snuggling into it.

"Cool," he says.

"Like, at all? If that's okay?"

That sounds super okay. "Yeah," Mike says, rubbing his chin happily against Steve's shoulder. He doesn't think they have time to do this again before they have to leave for golf, but they've got a few more days of vacation, this should be awesome. 

"Weirdo," Steve says, but he totally gropes Mike's ass when he says it, so everything's definitely going to be all right.


End file.
